In His Sights, page 22
“If the m-money is not received by tomorrow morning, General Coelho will place me on a plane to Washington, where I will expose your plan to the world. Your aspirations for the p-presidency, as well as your career, will be finished, and you will be tried as the—” her voice dropped to almost a whisper, “—murderer you are. General Coelho has kept meticulous records of your conversations and each bank transfer. He knows you have a propensity for lying.” She paused. The word propensity was underlined twice.
Gary’s voice changed, thinned, until it was a pitiful wheedle, his charming southern drawl all but gone. “Callie, I’ll get you out of there. We have several teams of troops on the ground right now. They’re on their way. Just hang in there.”
Liar. He’d told her the president had ordered the mission aborted—had emphasized that fact. He was the one who’d planted the idea that the president was involved.
That had been his plan all along.
To frame President Bryson. And she’d fallen for it. Just like everyone else would. They would believe a grief-stricken senator over an unpopular president. And no one would think sweet, gentle Gary Parker capable of killing his own wife and unborn child.
She longed again to demand he tell her why, but she didn’t dare.
Her continued tears threatened to obliterate the letters in front of her. She blinked to clear her vision. “By eight o’clock tomorrow morning the money must be in the account. Don’t be late.”
Callie handed the phone back to the rebel. He took it, but held her stare for a long moment, then in a sudden gesture he spat, catching her on the left cheek. “Puta! You carry his child.”
Horror washed over her as her forearm lifted to wipe away the spittle. He thought she was a prostitute. A whore, who’d given her body to her sister’s husband.
Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “No, I’m a surrogate.”
His hand cracked across her cheek with such force that her teeth rattled and her head hit the back of the chair. Her vision blacked out for a second.
She was going to die. Right now.
“Don’t speak,” he screamed.
Callie’s foggy brain searched through the pain for a way to explain what surrogate meant in his language, but it was a word she’d never had to use while living in Brazil. She had no idea what the correct term was. All this man knew was that she was carrying Gary’s baby.
And that made her a whore in his eyes.
He’d turned from her, his angry tones cracking through the phone’s handset. Gary’s voice no longer came over the loudspeaker, so he’d turned it off somehow. A low ugly laugh met her ears, but she tuned it out.
Gary’s baby. She was carrying his child. A man capable of unspeakable evil.
The thought made her almost as ill as it seemed to make her captor. But the baby wasn’t just Gary’s. Half of Micah’s genes came from his mother. His beautiful, big-hearted, loving mother. Surely that would override everything else. And he would carry Cole’s name. A strong, honorable name.
If it was the last thing she did, Callie would make sure Gary never raised this child.
If she survived.
She didn’t know whether her brother-in-law was willing to pay the extra money. But she evidently had until eight o’clock in the morning to find out. And to find some means of escape. Maybe if her captor let her go to the bathroom as he’d promised…
The rebel hung up the phone and stood with his back to her for several long seconds. When he turned around, his face was calmly resolute, his eyes empty black holes that lacked a soul.
Cole’s words at their first meeting had been prophetic. She’d claimed you could appeal to anyone’s humanity. She’d been so smugly sure of her position. Cole had disagreed. She could still hear his pronouncement in her head: He had no humanity.
Real fear swept over her, greater than anything she’d experienced in all her time in Angola. She didn’t have until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Her fate was going to be decided in the next several seconds.
The rebel’s soft words confirmed her fears. “And now, my little puta…you and I have a party to attend.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Moss and Cole burst into the lobby of the Galleria Hotel. Moss let his friend rush for the reception desk, while he paused to take in the surroundings.
The second his eyes landed on two seated individuals, an eerie sense of déjà vu gripped him. The rebels from the other hotel. Chipped-tooth wasn’t with them.
As if the two goons shared a single brain cell, their eyes swiveled toward Moss, and a synchronized pause of two full beats went by before they both leaped to their feet.
He’d been made.
“Cole,” he called, pulling his handgun just as the two men began a panicked grappling for their machine guns.
His friend was beside him in an instant, drawing a bead on one of the rebels, before either man had a chance to lift his gun. Moss took aim at the other one.
Moving a step closer, he kept his gun aimed and ready. “We can do this like civilized human beings, or we can shoot it out. I guarantee we’ll win.”
The rebel’s eyes widened. The man evidently understood enough English to get the gist of the threat. He didn’t dare look to see the other man’s reaction. That was Cole’s territory.
“Put your guns on the ground and we won’t kill you,” Moss continued. “My friend can put a bullet through the center of your friend’s pupil. It’s what he’s trained for.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cole shift his aim a millimeter to the right. “Which eye? Right or left?”
That rebel lowered his gun without a word and laid it on the ground, raising his hands and backing away.
“And you, my friend. What will your choice be? My aim’s not nearly as good as my buddy’s here, but I can still make a pretty big mess of your head. Either way, it’s two guns against one, now.”
The man shook his head. “The general will kill us if we let you pass.”
Chipped-tooth. It had to be.
“Your choice, then. Die now. Or choose a safer profession, far from your boss’s reach.” Moss shook his head. “Although I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him much longer. If he hurts my friend’s lady, he’s a dead man.”
The second rebel dropped his weapon as well. “We will leave then.”
“Not until we get your general. Is the lady okay?”
“He ordered us from the room ten minutes ago. Like last time.” The man’s swallow was visible. “He doesn’t like anyone to watch.”
* * *
Cole handed his rifle to Moss. “Keep them here.”
They traded guns, Cole taking Moss’s pistol. Without another word, he sprinted past the desk. “They’re in the room I reserved?”
“Sim, senhor. But you must hurry. The voice from the heavens has stopped talking.”
“Stairs?”
“To your right.”
Cole didn’t need to be told twice. He wasn’t waiting around for the elevator. Slamming through the doors two floors above him, he glanced down the hallway but saw nothing. Nor did he hear anything.
He swallowed and prayed for time.
The door was there, to the right. Shut tight. He hugged the wall and put his ear to the wooden surface. Nothing.
A scream and the sound of glass shattering forced him into motion. He backed up a step and rushed the door, planting his full weight against it. The barrier groaned but held. He backed up and tried again, but the damned thing wouldn’t budge. He remembered the key.
“Shit!”
Cursing himself for his lapse, he found it in his pocket and slid it in the lock. Another scream met his ears.
Shoving through the door and pushing it wide, he held the gun in front of him as he entered, swinging the weapon in a wide arc.
Empty. The room was completely empty.
Where were they?
It was then Cole spotted the small speakers on the dresser. Some kind of panting came through them, like the sound of an animal…and then a pained squeal.
Taped? No, it was live.
Where the hell were the sounds coming from?
A chair in the center of the room. Ropes. Oh hell. A shirt lay crumpled on the ground. Callie’s.
Nausea roiled through his gut. He had to find her.
Now he could hear her, talking in low tones to some unknown person. Pleading with him. The other party laughed, but said nothing.
Cole checked the bathroom, his pulse racing with dread. It was clear. The speakers were wireless. The range would be short…
It had to be a nearby room.
“Hang on, baby, I’m coming.”
He rushed back into the hallway and worked his way down the row of rooms, listening at each door until he struck pay dirt on the third try.
Callie moaned and cried out.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Cole backed up several steps and said a quick prayer before releasing every ounce of strength he possessed. Miraculously, the door gave way and he nearly fell into the room.
The general, his face dripping blood from a long ugly-looking gash, gripped Callie from the side. She was naked from the waist up. Her long hair was fisted in the man’s hand, her head yanked back so far it looked like her slender neck would snap at any second.
Her eyes met his across the room. “Cole!”
The man’s crazed gaze fastened on him as well. It was then that he noticed the shattered window behind the pair; the long lethal shard of glass gripped in Callie’s hand, the bloody fingers, her swollen right eye…the man’s unfastened pants.
Blind fury roared through his gut, and he aimed his gun at the man’s forehead.
The rebel sneered. “Put it down, soldier boy, or I will kill your puta where she stands, along with the bastard child she carries inside.”
Cole held his ground.
“Cole.” Callie’s voice came out as a sobbing plea. “Just let him do what he wants.”
“No.” The sound, low and feral burst, from his throat. She might say she was willing, but it was obvious from the slash on the rebel’s face and the glass in her hand that she’d tried to stop him.
“Listen to your whore, soldier boy.” The man drew a gun from behind Callie’s back. Before Cole could move, he pressed the weapon to the bare skin of her pregnant abdomen, the barrel digging into her flesh.
She stared at him, her head still wrenched painfully back. A tear tumbled from her undamaged eye and tracked sideways, disappearing into her hairline.
As he watched, her trembling mouth formed three distinct words: I. Love. You.
Then, before anyone could react, she moved fast and Cole’s world exploded in a roar of sound. Once from his gun and once from the rebel’s. He stared in disbelief as, in slow motion, both Callie and her rebel captor went down.
* * *
Callie struggled to sit up, pain shooting through her elbow.
Cole was beside her in an instant. “Are you hit?”
Her hands flew to her abdomen, her fingers running over it. A tiny reassuring flutter met her touch. She shut her eyes for a moment. “We’re fine.”
She glanced at the rebel beside her. “Is he…?”
“No. You moved so fast I was afraid of hitting you by mistake. I shifted my aim at the last second. He caught the shot in the shoulder.”
Her heart was still thumping a million miles a minute and her whole body shook. But she was alive, when she’d expected to die. The rebel had planned on killing her no matter what.
She’d pulled free and smashed the window with a nearby lamp as he was wrestling with his zipper. She’d only gotten in one slash, before he screamed and overpowered her again. Just a few seconds later and…
Her eyes shut again, and Cole’s arms went around her. “You’re fine.”
Callie leaned closer, his low voice soothing her trembling heart. “Thanks to you.”
“You did most of it. You fought like a tiger.” He glanced to the side and gave her a quick squeeze. “I’m going to leave you for just a minute to secure him, okay?”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her middle to cover her breasts as Cole ripped the cord from the overturned lamp and shoved the rebel onto his side. The man groaned and shifted, but didn’t open his eyes. Cole’s movements were sure and quick as he looped the cord around the rebel’s hands and fastened it tight.
He took hold of the bed sheet and started to pull it free, then stopped and stared at it. His eyes lifted to the wall. And he turned in a rush. “Did he…”
Shaking her head, she relieved his thoughts by opening her palm. “He cut my hand and made me write in blood on the wall.”
She shuddered as the word puta stared down at her from above the bed. She’d tried to explain what a surrogate was, but her sister’s killer had not wanted to listen, declaring her body polluted with adulterous seed.
Cole abandoned the sheet and brought the bedspread instead, wrapping it around her.
She glanced at the downed man. “The taxi driver tried to protect me. He killed him.” Sorrow washed over her. Yet another victim of her brother-in-law’s treachery. So much bloodshed.
“I know. We found him.”
“We?”
“Moss is here. He’s guarding the others in the lobby. I need to give him the all clear.”
Making the call, he gave Moss an abbreviated version of events. He told him to tell the flunkies in the lobby that their leader was out of commission and unless they wanted the same thing to happen to them, they’d better get out of town.
He hung up, and then hunkered down in front of her, touching her cheek with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “You sure you’re okay? The baby?”
“I think so. He’s still moving. I just want to get out of here.”
“Moss has probably already made the arrangements. We’re going to get you home. And when we do, we’ll go to my higher-up, General Markesan, and tell them what the president tried to—”
“No.” Her head tipped back to look at him, still unable to fathom how close she’d come to death. Still not believing who’d given the order. “It wasn’t the president.”
“What?”
Her shoulders heaved and the acidy sting of bile washed up her throat in a rush. She swallowed hard. “It was Gary.”
There was a long pause. “Your brother-in-law?”
She told him about having to read the script over the phone and the shock she’d felt when Gary’s voice had come over the line. “He lied…said he was trying to get us out. The rebel said the money was on its way. That Gary agreed to pay it to avoid being discovered.”
“Bastard. Why?”
She’d been asking herself that question ever since she heard his voice. “I don’t know. But he was involved in Sara’s death as well. The rebel said he tampered with her plane on Gary’s orders.”
“What motive could he possibly have? You’re carrying his child, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe he thought by implicating the president he’d have an easy win in the election.” She touched his arm, her throat still burning. “Imagine how the public would feel about a man who’d recently lost not only his wife, but his unborn child to terrorists. Wouldn’t you elect him?”
Cole’s laugh was strained. “Actually, I was planning to vote for the other guy, until he refused to send troops in to get you out. Now—” his hands went up, “—I have no idea who to vote for.”
She pulled the bedspread tighter and offered a small smile. “Maybe you should consider running for office yourself.”
“With my scatterbrain?” He sat next to her and looped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I don’t think so.”
Callie smoothed the hair off his forehead, her fingers brushing the area just beneath his wound. “This scatterbrain has saved my life quite a few times already. And somehow even concocted a way to make snake look and taste like chicken.”
At Cole’s soft chuckle, she glanced at the rebel leader. “Will the police come for him?”
“I doubt it. There’s still quite a bit of corruption in the various government agencies. I don’t think the desk clerk is going to be calling them anytime soon.”
“How did you find me?”
“The clerk of this hotel is the cousin of Moss’s hotel clerk. Moss evidently made a good impression during his last hotel stay.”
“Remind me to thank him.”
He kissed her forehead. “You ready to go?”
The wheels in Callie’s head had been turning for the last fifteen minutes or so. “I am, but first I want to make sure Gary is brought to justice for my sister’s death.”
“He will be. We’ll go to the authorities—and General Markesan—and tell them what we know.”
“I’m not sure that’ll be enough.”
He shrugged. “What else can we do?”
“I have an idea.”
Cole tilted his head and studied her. “I’m all ears.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
José glared at the American pigs from across the room. They were talking in subdued tones, daring to ignore him. He’d tried in vain to free his arms and legs from the bindings, but the slightest movement detonated pain in a fiery wave and sent it shooting through his shoulder. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. He was in the same chair the puta had occupied earlier.
How much time had passed?
He lifted his chin. His men were probably planning to liberate him even now. They would make these American capitalists pay. And that whore…she would finally get what was coming to her. His eyes crawled over her swollen stomach. He’d cut that demon seed out of her with his own hands.
